


the best of you, honey, belongs to me

by skvadern



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Class Differences, F/M, Future Fic, Multiple Orgasms, Objectification, Possessive Behavior, Size Difference, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, in which sasha rolls to appraise but sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27629687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skvadern/pseuds/skvadern
Summary: Hamid looks good – no, not just good. Hamid looksseveral tens of thousand even from a black-market fencegood. The kind of good she wouldn’t have dreamed of being able to shift back in the old days. The kind of good that even now, set for the rest of her days, Sasha’s never been able to resist.During a party at the end of the world, Sasha pushes a few boundaries.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Sasha Racket
Comments: 20
Kudos: 57





	the best of you, honey, belongs to me

**Author's Note:**

> i Feel like sasha is somewhere on the ace spectrum in this, but i am not ace, so if anything reads off do let me know. hamid is trans, and words used for his genitals are clit, cunt and entrance.  
> title from nfwmb by hozier

The hallways of what used to be the al-Tahan mansion echo with laughter, music, the clink of glass on marble. Even now, so late it’s edging into a reasonable time to be awake again, the ‘Armageddidn’t’ party is still in full swing. Downstairs, in the huge open room that had only just been cleared of desks and workstations, there’s probably still people dancing, though most of them must have dropped off now to slump in corners, or snuck off to do other things in other corners. It’s a big house, there’s lots of corners.

Sasha ghosts through it all, sticking to the upper levels. They’re less populated than the ground floor, but still plenty full of little knots of people, pairs, the odd loner curled up on the floor. They’re all busy with drink or sleep or each other, and Sasha’s way too good for any of them to spot her as she sneaks past.

Where she’s sneaking to, exactly, she’s not sure. All she knows is there’s a restlessness under her skin, and she can’t sit still. She’d danced for a bit, in one of the quieter rooms and only because Cel’s puppy-dog eyes are basically a weapon, and that had helped some. But there’s only so much moving in front of other people’s eyes that Sasha can handle, even on a night like this, where everything is as sharp and bright as champagne and anything feels possible.

So here she is, slipping through deep puddles of shadow, still the tiniest bit drunk and wondering if she shouldn’t get drunker. To check, she nicks a bottle of something off some bloke, busy talking to a good-looking woman who doesn’t seem all that interested, and takes a swig. It’s good whiskey, she’s been around enough now to know that, but it’s not _right_. It’s not what she’s after.

She sets it down in the hand of a halfling she vaguely recognises, plonked on a chair and resting his eyes, and continues onwards.

Two more turns, and she’s about to give up and head for the roof, before a familiar voice snags on her mind. Sasha draws up short, sliding deeper into the shadows without really considering why, and turns into the landing to see Hamid and Saira standing by a pillar, talking in low voices with matching gentle smiles on their faces.

She’s about to continue past, but then her eyes catch properly on Hamid, and she stills.

He’s laughing at his sister’s joke, eyes glittering like the jewels on his cufflinks, like the scales beading his hairline. Small, elegant hands catch the light, adorned with the pretty rings she’d watched him put on this afternoon, while they were all getting ready. Hamid’s suits are always good, always perfectly cut, but this one is _proper_ nice. The black and deep purple of the fabrics are lightened by shimmering gold embroidery – not encrusted, it’s all well tasteful, but it makes the suit look more than appropriate for a party.

Hamid looks good – no, not just good. Hamid looks _several tens of thousand even from a black-market fence_ good. The kind of good she wouldn’t have dreamed of being able to shift back in Other London, not on her tod. The kind of good that even now, set for the rest of her days, Sasha’s never been able to resist.

Her fingers twitch, just a little, and she glares down at them. No, bad fingers. Hamid’s not some jewel she can pinch off a sideboard while nobody’s looking, he’s a person and all that. You can’t steal a person – or, well, you can, but then it’s trafficking and you deserve what you get for that.

Even as she thinks that, Sasha realises she’s sneaking closer, sticking to the puddles of darkness. Neither al-Tahan sees her, too wrapped up in their conversation, in how obviously happy they are to be reunited. She could step forward, be welcomed into their little circle even if she doesn’t do anything more than stand awkwardly above them and stare. Saira’s good like that, and Sasha’s trained Hamid up by now.

Some twisty little sneak-thief instinct holds her back, keeps her hidden. It feels _good_ to wait, unnoticed; like she’s scoping out a mark. The impotent, frustrating energy isn’t annoying her anymore, it’s gone all smooth and purring like a fussed-over cat. Warming up her muscles and sharpening her eyes.

She’s still not sure exactly what game she’s playing here, but whatever it is feels too satisfying to stop any time soon.

Eventually, Hamid and Saira part, Saira wandering downstairs. She’s looking a lot less put together than Sasha’s seen from her before, and her steps are a little unsteady. _She should watch herself_ , Sasha thinks, before reminding the stupid little kid part of herself that Saira doesn’t need to be on high alert. She’s safe, here. They all are.

Still, when Hamid starts towards his room, reclaimed now the al-Tahan mansion doesn’t have to fit so many people, Sasha reckons it’ll probably be safer if she watches out for him. Hamid doesn’t look pissed, but he’s a bit of an idiot even sober, and he’ll be safer with her guarding his back.

Sure, he’d probably think it was a bit creepy, little weirdo that he is, but Hamid doesn’t necessarily have to know, does he?

She ghosts past knots of partygoers, following the glint of light as it catches on his embroidered jacket, until they come to a corridor she recognises. It’s where Hamid’s room is – or at least it was, back when they’d visited Cairo, a few months and two years ago. She’d have thought it’d be requisitioned by workers now, but maybe saving the world means that Hamid gets his own room. Not that Sasha would know; she’s been sleeping with the gargoyles on the roof since the sandstorms stopped.

Hamid opens the door, and that should be it, really. He’s safe back to his room, no enemies jumping him or pits opening up in the marble floor. She can go, now.

Instead, when Hamid leaves his door open for a moment as he moves further into the room, Sasha slips in after him, smooth as water pouring down a slate roof.

“Alright, Hamid?” she asks, and catches a whiff of his cologne on the night breeze coming in the open window. Subtle, expensive, nice. Compliments the rest of the ensemble perfectly. Sasha’s fingers itch again, which is weird cause how the hell are you meant to steal a scent?

Hamid fully jumps, spinning round with a hand raised. Sasha dodges reflexively, but thankfully Hamid recognises her before he can cast.

“Sasha!” he exclaims, with that high voice that used to annoy Sasha, just a bit. Before Hamid grew up enough for it not to remind her of a kid’s. “You startled me!”

“Well, yeah,” Sasha replies, and then sort of forgets her words. In her defence, the soft lamplight suffusing Hamid’s room is working really well with the metallic sheen of his scales, the lustre of his jewellery. His complexion, always good, looks even better now, and Sasha finds suddenly that she likes him like this. Wide-eyed, off his guard.

For a moment, Hamid just blinks at her, then he gives up and relaxes his shoulders. “Okay, then,” he murmurs, and turns away, moving to shrug his jacket off. It’s an actual jacket tonight, not the normal magical garment thing – Hamid had said something about family tradition and social faux pas, though how that lines up with him needing actual cloth clothes had flown right over Sasha’s head.

“Leave it on,” comes out of Sasha’s mouth before her brain catches up. Hamid turns and stares, and she stares back, not entirely sure where that came from. There’s a familiar little lurch in her stomach, like she’s poised on the edge of a roof and bracing to take a leap, only she has no idea what’s on the other side. No real idea what she’s doing, what she’s trying to achieve by sneaking into her friend’s room and staring at him.

Hamid’s eyes are steady on her, and he looks like he’s considering something. Probably trying to figure out what she’s about; which, good luck to him, maybe he can tell her. Then he nods slowly and tugs the suit jacket all the way back on, smoothing it down so it sits nice over his shoulders again. Seeing him all neat and pretty, perfectly put together once more, sends a weird little thrill zinging through Sasha’s gut.

She doesn’t decide to step closer, exactly. It just happens.

After so long wandering cool stone corridors, Hamid’s so warm. There’s heat coming off him in a steady furnace radiation, pleasant against her bare arms; Cairo nights get surprisingly cold. And he still smells good, the cologne fading out into notes of patchouli and rose, the vanilla and cloves in his shampoo and the Hamid smell beneath it all, spices and a bit of sweat and just a hint of smoke.

“Sasha?” Hamid asks tentatively, and she realises that she’s drifted even closer, pushed into his space. For a moment she thinks of the ring Bertie had, back in Prague, and shudders. But no, this pull feels natural, _good_. This time, she’s in control.

Hamid’s eyes have gone big and slightly worried again. It’s still a good look on him, big dark pools in the warm brown of his face. Like the Thames in the torchlight, if you’re at a distance and don’t have a sense of smell.

She takes another step forward, and Hamid takes a little step back. Just like she’d predicted, his shoulder bumps gently against the wall, and he jerks sharply, a little gasp shocked out of him. Fuck, she wants to taste that gasp.

Which, yeah, that’s weird, that’s not like her. Sasha knows her type, and Hamid really isn’t it. Then again, she’s always had an affinity for shiny things, _magpie eyes and sticky fingers_.

Hamid’s not just shiny, right now. He _gleams_.

Hamid looks up at her, all soft eyes and hair that she’s always wanted to ruffle, just a bit, ever since she saw it get messed up the first time. He bites into his plush lower lip – his lipstick good enough that it doesn’t smear on his teeth, ivory-white and perfectly straight. Practically on instinct, Sasha does the figures in her head.

She reaches out and slips her fingers under the folds of his ascot; not yanking on it, just holding it gently. Hamid’s eyes flick down and he swallows, his throat bobbing, but he doesn’t try and pull away.

“Good,” she whispers into the quiet of the room, without quite meaning to. Hamid _trembles_ at it and oh, yeah, this works.

Testing a theory, she gives the ascot a yank at the knot. It stays neatly laid across his shirt, but Hamid is pulled forward, stumbling into her. Just like she’d hoped, he doesn’t raise his hands to try and catch himself.

He’s letting her. What else would he let her do, if she pushed for it?

Only one way to find out.

Hand still tight on his ascot, Sasha pulls Hamid towards the bed. He stumbles a little, falling into her again, and she steadies him with a hand around his shoulders. Keeping him close in case he bolts – acting like she wouldn’t let him. Like he’s going to run.

He’s so easy to guide around, is the thing. Small and light in a way she doesn’t notice a lot of the time, with his nice suits and his easy confidence in the kind of situations she’s never been able to handle. It’s easy to forget that Hamid’s a good few years younger and two feet shorter than her, until she’s got him like this. Obviously, he could blast her into ash with a word and a flick of his manicured fingers, but she just isn’t registering the threat.

Hamid opens his mouth a couple of times, like he’s going to speak, but Sasha’s not sure she could handle a conversation at the moment. So she gives his ascot a pointed little tug, and he closes his pretty mouth with a click.

When her calves hit the bed – it’s a halfling-sized king, because of course it is, and set lower than the bed in her room – Sasha sits down, spreading her knees and guiding Hamid between them. He’s still keeping his hands to himself, twitching nervously at his sides, like the good little prize he is.

 _Prize_. That snags on something in her gut, and she flushes hot with it. Yeah, her prize, her pretty, precious thing that she was smart and skilled and quick enough to grab. And now she gets to enjoy him, tucked away from everyone, nice and safe. Nobody’s going to take him away from her.

Tentatively, she raises a hand and cups the handsome curve of Hamid’s jaw. Her hand’s massive on his face, and when he exhales shakily, she feels it warm and damp against her wrist. Her pinky finger taps gently against his throat, and she luxuriates in the heat of his skin.

Hamid opens his mouth again, and Sasha places her thumb over his lips. It’s obscenely large, taking up way too much of his face, and his lipstick feels silky-waxy against her skin.

“Shh,” she murmurs, “just… just lemme look, okay?”

Hamid shudders, eyes wide, and nods. She’s close enough here to see how his pupils have blown, black against a thin little ring of brown.

And look Sasha does. She smooths down his ascot again, tugging everything straight before skimming over his shoulders, down his arms. The suit really is _lovely_ , great quality material treated right, cut for him perfectly. Where the hell Hamid got it, she doesn’t know, but he is an al-Tahan and they have just stopped the world ending.

Still, a suit this well-tailored to one person would be hell of a lot harder to shift than the jewellery. Everything’s gold, from the stick-pin to the earrings to the rings. It sets off the golden undertones in his skin, the little slips of brass creeping over it. He’s got his Cloak of Ancestry off tonight, so he’s not looking quite so inhuman, but the scales are still there, gleaming soft and lustrous.

Sasha wants to touch them, so she does, her thumb rubbing lightly over the ones climbing his hairline. It’s so smooth her finger almost slips off, and warmer even than his skin. The pad of her thumb tingles sharply, almost but not quite painful, and Sasha grins.

She’s just touched a dragon. A little halfling-shaped one, sure, but all the same.

Hamid turns his face into her hand, like a cat would, and Sasha slides her hand through his hair, mussing it a little. It’s curly, underneath whatever weird mix of product and magic he uses; not curls like Azu’s gets on the rare occasion she grows it out a bit, more like little ringlets. Sasha slips her finger into one and gives a tug, and Hamid follows the movement, dreamlike and dazed. His eyes have slipped half-closed, pleased little slits that track her slowly when she tilts his head back with one finger tucked under his chin.

Fuck, but he’s _tiny_. Tall for a halfling, sure, but his bones feel so small under her human hands. It’s shockingly pleasant, the difference between them. Like, she knows he could put her through a wall, burn her to ashes where she stands, but she can just… pick him up, if she feels like it.

Instead, she goes for his buttons. She’s done all the appraising she needs to do on this layer and, surprising herself, she realises she wants to see more.

Hamid’s beautiful jacket comes off slowly beneath her hands, and he stays perfectly still as she eases it down. Like some rich kid’s dress-up doll, letting her peel him out of his finery. Taking care to fold the jacket before lying it on the bed, she turns back to him and strokes a clumsy thumb over his cheek, to see his eyes flutter closed. After all, it’s important to take care of your things.

Next, the waistcoat. As she removes it, she notices the ties go all the way up the back, like a corset. She grins; she’d thought Hamid’s waist was slimmer than normal. He sighs deeply when the waistcoat comes unfastened, as the pressure releases, and she wonders idly how he can stand it. Eldarion had tried to get her in a corset a few times, and she’d hated even the loosest constriction.

She unfastens his ascot next, sorry to see it go; the dark gold silk had gleamed so beautifully against the crisp white of his shirt, picking up the brass accents that now lurk under his skin. But now the rich material is gone, she can run a finger across the smooth black button – ebony, she thinks, get plenty for that even as small and delicate as it is – and thumb it open. Unhurried, she unbuttons his collar and lays it aside before moving on to the row of buttons that go halfway down the shirt, exposing his furred chest, heaving with his every breath.

She could cut him out of it, of course. But that’d ruin the fine cloth. That’d lower the price. So instead she eases it up, and Hamid raises his arms obligingly, helping her bare him.

Under his shirt, Hamid is _lovely_ , all thick curling black hair and at his chest. His stomach is so soft, and she presses on it gently, marvelling at the give there. She sort of wants to scoop him up, roll him over and press her face into the warm pillow of it; maybe she will, later. He’s her prize, after all. There’s no rush.

Hamid’s hands twitch, like he wants to reach out for her, but he doesn’t, so good for her that she has to reward him. She leans forward to press her lips onto his forehead, a little salty-slick now with sweat.

Then she pulls back, and gestures at his trousers, a little awkwardly. For some reason, the thought of taking his trousers off for him isn’t… she’d prefer him to do that. Maybe cause then she’d know, for absolutely sure, that he wants this.

Hamid, thank whatever gods bother with her, doesn’t try to ask her for confirmation. He just unlaces his trousers with fumbling fingers, and pulls the whole lot down, toeing his shoes off as fast as he can. It’s messy, straining the cloth a little, not taking care, but she finds she can’t be annoyed at it, not once he’s standing in front of her, trembling a little, tiny and bare and so deceptively defenceless.

She’d expected to be scared; the only times she’s ever seen someone else with their drawers down, it had never been, like, a thing. Sometimes when you’re the sort of person who shows up in people’s rooms unannounced, you get an eyeful, and that’s no one’s fault but yours. It happens, she’s never been particularly put off by it, but she’s also never been particularly interested. She doesn’t want to have done all this, and then realise that she’s got no interest in Hamid after all.

But he’s naked how, no going back, and she’s always been the curious sort. So Sasha looks.

It’s mostly covered by thick black curls that start between his legs, spreading to cover his thighs and melt into his leg hair. Soft and secret and hidden away, and Sasha finds she likes that. Likes even more the idea that she gets to see it anyway; that all Hamid’s soft secret places are for her to touch, right now.

So she does touch him, grinning a bit when her cold hands on his shoulders make him shiver, softening to a smile when that nervy tension relaxes under her hands. Hamid even starts preening a little, when he sees she’s failed to keep her eyes from skimming the whole lovely expanse of him, soft warm brown skin flecked with shining metal.

Yeah, Sasha can work with this.

She wants him in her arms, so she takes him, because she can. Coaxes him to turn round, delighting in how he moves at her gentle direction, and then she wraps her arms around him and lifts his light little body up into her lap. He actually _squeaks_ , fuck, it’s adorable, and Sasha presses her smile into his shoulder. Where they rest against each other, separated only by the thin linen of Sasha’s shirt, she can feel the heat start to bloom, heavy and drowning. Feel his thick, soft arse cupped between her hips, so nice to touch, all hers.

Securing him against her with one arm around his plush belly, Sasha lets her other hand go exploring. The thick tangle of curls is just as soft as it looks, and she takes great pleasure in twisting her fingers into it. Even tugging a little, just to make Hamid squirm and bite his lip.

Looking down, now that his hair is pulled back a little, she can see… it looks a bit like hers, except way bigger, and her’s certainly never stood up like that, like a tiny cock. She runs a finger over it, the petal-soft skin scorching hot, and Hamid’s hips actually jerk into it. Delighted, she laughs, and tugs him back into her. Gives the hard little thing a playful tap, and then moves downwards, parting the lips and gasping as her finger immediately sinks into impossible warmth and so, so much wet.

Hamid’s soft lips part, a little whimper escaping them, and Sasha buries her face in his hair, breathing in the spicy scent as she works her finger through the slickness. The texture is surprisingly nice, silky and soft, and he’s so hot here it’s almost on the edge of uncomfortable.

Experimentally, she presses the tip of her finger against his entrance, small and rimmed with raised, yielding flesh. She keeps the pressure light, not quite penetrating him, but Hamid still whines again, hips squirming like he doesn’t know if he wants to move away from the intrusion or further onto it.

“Shh, shh shh,” she whispers, trying to calm him a bit. It’s hard to tell if the noises he’s making are good or bad, when they sound so much like pain; he’d tell her to stop if he wanted to stop, right? She’s sure he would.

Still, despite the little whisper of disquiet, she can’t bring herself to stop. It’s really nice, being allowed to touch someone like this. She’s always been curious about this stuff, but there’s a lot of pressure to do it… normal. To do it like most women do, and Sasha doesn’t think she wants that. She’s not sure exactly what she wants, except more of this, right now.

She slides her finger up to the hard, blood-hot little nub she’d touched at first, stroking her now slick finger along its length. Hamid proper _moans_ which she reaches the tip, where it pokes out from the folded skin, so she slides the pad of her finger across it, rubbing around it in circles.

That gets her a brilliant reaction. Hamid’s back arches, his hips pressing into her hand, and sweet, shocked little moans slip from his lips. She kind of considers kissing him then, wonders what those noises would sound like puddled on her tongue, but she’s still not really sure about kissing yet. Seems like a messy production, and besides, Hamid’s probably really good at it. She’s not sure she wants to be that bad at something in front of him.

As she considers this, she runs a finger up and down his slit, collecting the silky-slick wetness, before dipping it down and resting it against his entrance once again. Hamid lets out more of those little whines, melting into a rich groan when she slides it ever so slowly inside.

He’s so _hot_ , inside. The flesh clenching her finger is impossibly soft and soaking wet, like he’s got a core of molten metal. As tight as he is, moving deeper into him is easy; there’s so much of his slick easing the way.

She only gets a few inches in before her finger hits against something, like an ending to his cunt. It’s as soft as the rest of it, a little firmer when she pushes – and when she pushes, Hamid makes this _sound_ , like he’s been punched in the gut.

“Okay?” she whispers, the words strangling themselves in her dry throat.

Hamid is speechless for a moment, shivering and panting and gods but that’s fun, knowing she’s the one making that clever mouth slack and insensible. “Sasha,” he whines, when he finally manages to talk, “Sasha, _please_ -“

“Okay,” she tells him, leaning down to brush her lips against the point of his ear. The flushed cartilage is shockingly hot, and while she’s still not sure about kissing, mouthing at the thin skin nets her some absolutely gorgeous whines.

Drawing her finger back and sliding it in again, she notices that Hamid’s already looser around her. His hips are rocking into her movements now. grinding down on her with surprising force. Like he’s hungry.

On impulse, she dips another finger down to rub at where he’s open around her first, and Hamid shudders weakly in her arms. His hips, she notice, press into her touch instead of pulling away.

“Shit, you really want more?” she mutters, almost to herself, and Hamid whimpers, nodding frantically. To reward him for that gorgeous sound, she presses a little harder, where he’s so wet and only getting more open, and her second finger just… goes in. Hamid stretching around her, so incredibly tight and somehow even wetter.

“Fuck,” Sasha whispers, “Hamid, fuck. How much can you _take_ , mate?”

She’s not really expecting an answer and Hamid doesn’t give her one, just more pretty little sounds falling from his mouth like gems. By now, he’s bitten off half his lipstick, and his lips are sticky-dark with spit and its remains. The temptation to feed her finger into his mouth is very real, but she’s kind of worried that if she lets go around his waist, he’ll fall clean off her lap.

Instead she holds him tighter, pressing into his rich softness, kissing his ear and revelling in the heat pouring off him as he breaks apart in her arms. Those sweet sounds are getting louder, his little squirms more frantic.

Sasha’s pretty sure she gets what’s about to happen, and the anticipation coils sweetly in her gut. She’s never watched someone come before. “Gonna lose it for me, pretty?” she whispers, lips curving into a bright smile. She feels like she’s flying, powerful and relaxed and free.

At her words, Hamid _wails_ , long and broken. His body jerks hard in her grip, but she’s stronger; she works him through it, fingers thrusting and thumb caressing, until he starts flinching away. Then, she eases up on his clit, but can’t quite bear to take her fingers out yet, not when he’s still so smooth and soft and soaking wet.

Experimentally, she thrusts again, and Hamid’s head falls back heavily against her shoulder. He stares up at her, dark-cheeked and fat-lipped and messy-curled, sweat soaking his hairline and eyes dark and unfocussed. He looks _wrecked_.

It’s strange, how the disarray makes him look more valuable to her, even prettier. Her lovely little prize, come to pieces on her hand, in her lap.

Slowly, she rebuilds her rhythm, and this time Hamid doesn’t even have the energy to move his hips into it. Just lies collapsed back against her, chest heaving, a sweet, high moan on every gasped breath. She crooks her fingers experimentally, about halfway in, vaguely remembering slurred advice in a dingy pub that she hadn’t thought she’d ever need.

Gods bless that forgotten half-cut bloke, though, because it pays off with a shivery little squeal, a fresh gush of slickness. So she does it again, and again, her thumb returning to grind gently against his clit.

He’s gotten so loose, now, so perfectly accepting of her fingers, and she croons that against his ear. “All soft for me, opening up so good.” The praise makes him squirm as much as the petting and the fingers, so she tries some more, even though it makes her feel like a tit. “Yeah, that’s it. So sweet, my pretty little prize. All mine, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re all for me.”

Hamid groans deep in his throat and next time she crooks her fingers, timing it with a swipe across the head of his clit, he shudders all over, cunt pulsing around her. It happens so much quicker than the first time that she almost doesn’t realise he’s come again, and when she does she shivers at the curl of pride in her chest. Twice in one go, that’s got to be decent. She did _good_.

Easing her fingers from the hot clutch of his cunt, Sasha flops back onto the bed and takes Hamid with her, grinning at his little squeak of surprise. When she lets go of his waist, he slips off her, but doesn’t go far, collapsing on his back on the cool sheets with a rich, satisfied groan. She takes the opportunity to turn over and rest her face on the warm pillow of his belly, burrowing into the softness. Hamid laughs, high-pitched and a little unsteady, and lets her.

Sasha closes her eyes, rubbing her cheek gently against the gentle scratch of his hair, a little sweaty in a way she doesn’t really mind, and takes inventory. There’s a soft simmering warmth low in her stomach, and a slight stickiness in her own underwear, but no need itches at her. The idea of doing something about it makes her feel unbalanced, like wobbling on a high pipe, so she doesn’t. Maybe that’s not how people are meant to do things, but breaking into your friend’s bedroom and manhandling him into getting naked probably isn’t how you’re meant to do things either, and that’d worked out just fine.

Instead she rests there and listens as Hamid’s breathing slows, calms. When it’s back to normal again, she sits up, wincing a little when he catches her eye. She looks away quickly, but not quickly enough to see his mouth opening.

“Sasha-“

“Don’t, yeah?” It’s not – she likes Hamid, likes him a whole lot, obviously, but if he’s going to insist on talking about this, she’s going to go for that temptingly big window, she is. Maybe if she were as good at talking as he is, she’d like it more, but she’s not and the last thing she wants to do is try and justify whatever madness had come over her back there. They both had a good time, no-one got hurt, if there’s anything more to say it can wait till the morning.

They’ve spent long enough in each other’s company that Hamid can read her, and he backs off. “Okay,” he murmurs soothingly – and annoyingly, it does soothe her. Enough that despite her skin starting to prickle, she still curls her limbs into his bed, propping herself up against the strangely small headboard.

Hamid’s head comes to rest against her thigh, and that’s fine, somehow. She’s not going to stay the night, that’d be too much, but that hot little weight isn’t unpleasant, doesn’t make her panic or itch for a knife.

Somehow, her hand ends up on his shoulder, just resting there, against the hot softness of his skin. Underneath it, bones shift as his ribcage expands and folds back in on itself; above it, those emerging scales glint in the lamplight. So beautiful, laid out in her lap.

Yeah, she can stay a little while.


End file.
